


Someone in Another Time

by Mytha



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, Grief, Holding Hands, Hopeful Ending, Mutual Cluelessness, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Revelation of feelings, Satinalia (Dragon Age), Writing, bad future timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26235220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytha/pseuds/Mytha
Summary: Cassandra knew she was being watched. After weeks in the Hinterlands it had become a familiar feeling. It had taken her a while to figure out that it was the Herald who had taken such an interest in her – but why? As Cassandra looked up, however, Trevelyan's eyes were lowered to her notebook in which she seemed to be writing any time their rests would allow it. What was she doing?
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast
Comments: 17
Kudos: 42
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	Someone in Another Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Settiai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Settiai/gifts).



> Dear Settiai, I hope you enjoy this fic. Happy Black Emporium!

**Hinterlands 9** **th** **day of Kingsway 9:41 Dragon**

Cassandra knew she was being watched. After weeks in the Hinterlands it had become a familiar feeling. It had taken her a while to figure out that it was the Herald who had taken such an interest in her **–** but why? As Cassandra looked up, however, Trevelyan's eyes were lowered to her notebook in which she seemed to be writing any time their rests would allow it. What was she doing?

Verna Trevelyan was the youngest child of the Ostwick Trevelyans, this much Cassandra knew. Used to the city, to gardens and cultured fields, the Hinterlands had obviously come as a shock to her. Cassandra, impatient with complaints about their perfectly adequate camp, had watched Verna bond with Varric over their mutual distaste for _sleeping rough_ and sighed.

As a mage, Verna had spent much of her life at the Ostwick Circle – a fact that Cassandra was frequently reminded of. Living at a Circle had made Verna shy and wary of Seekers, something that Cassandra could not fault her for. A Seeker visit was not something any Circle welcomed. While the Herald had been quick to warm up to her other traveling companions, she still avoided Cassandra as best she could.

Was Verna’s observation of her purely based on fear or suspicion then? Not something that would change if she herself kept staring at their Herald, Cassandra told herself irately. She got up to find something to do to rid herself of idle thoughts.

**Redcliffe 3** **rd** **day of Harvestmere 9:41 Dragon**

Verna had been confident that going to the mages for help had been the right decision. Uneasy as she was to see the Tevinter involvement, she still understood why Fiona had hoped Tevinter might offer protection to the mage rebellion. It was unthinkable to ask the Templars for help with the Breach instead – especially if their encounter with them in Val Royeaux was anything to go by. The Lord Seeker seemed a crazed bully – and if she had to entrust their well-being to a man stinking of hubris, they might as well approach this Alexius. He at least seemed to have some human feelings left in him.

As they approached the steps where Alexius waited for them, Verna felt very grateful she had accepted Leliana’s contingency plan to make sure the Tevinters would have a hard time ambushing them. Was it her imagination or did she see someone move in the shadows?

But the knowledge of hidden Inquisition agents did nothing to allay her fears. She shivered as Alexius welcomed them, yet stood her ground. Even plagued by anxiety she knew the trick to it. Stand up straight, tense all the muscles in your body, look them in the eyes, do not pitch your voice too high, speak as if you meant to reach the furthest edge of the room. Who could have known that her childhood theater performances would prove so helpful?

If they were going to ally with these Tevinters, she was not going to put her people at risk. Surely any alliance might also be used to do something for these unfortunate mages now caught in indentured service for the magisters, to at least keep them from Tevinter battlefields.

At her back stood Varric and Cassandra. The former a true friend and talented at making her forget her nerves, the latter a source of fear, strength – and irresistible fascination. They were her most trusted companions. At her side, Dorian, the Tevinter mage, knew Alexius and his work. Even though he had been forthcoming with them at Haven, Verna still feared he had not told them enough to judge how the magister would react.

She had been right to be doubtful. The moment his son intervened on their behalf Alexius’ temper turned.

“Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands this woman’s life!”

Leliana’s people were quicker. All around them in the hall Venatori crumpled to the ground, their throats cut.

“You are a mistake! You never should have existed!” Alexius spat.

The magic he wrought was beyond her. There was an amulet - a flash of green light. Then Dorian shouted beside her and frantically flung his magic towards his old master.

Before she could react, Verna felt herself forcefully ripped into a cloud of sharp darkness, an uncountable number of pinpricks needled her like ants. A moment of nothing – then a pull forward as if yanked on a chain.

**Haven 11** **th** **day of Haring 9:41 Dragon**

In her nightmares Cassandra relived the terror she had felt in Redcliffe again and again.

She rushed forward, calling to her power to dispel the sickly magic that enveloped Verna and the Tevinter mage, but it was too late. She had not been quick enough. Then, crumpling to the ground where Verna had stood just a moment before, thrumming with her power, numb with shock.

She had failed.

In the confusion after the Herald had been killed, Alexius had vanished from sight. When Tevinter reinforcements had appeared and rifts had opened up within the castle, they had fled out of Redcliffe.

They were doomed now, she felt it in her heart.

Restless, sweating, Cassandra rose from her bed and left the chamber in the Chantry she shared with Josephine and Leliana. She dressed, moving quietly to not disturb their sleeping ambassador. Leliana, on the other hand, had not come to bed – her old friend and colleague slept even less than she ever had before.

The Herald’s cabin had become a shrine soon after her death and Cassandra was drawn to it irresistibly. While during the day it still drew those who prayed for their lost Herald, at night she was mercifully alone in her pilgrimage. In front of the entrance she breathed the cold air and hints of sweet, rotting flowers, weeks of offerings nobody quite found the nerve to remove. Inside someone had put a lamp in the window – a symbol of remembrance and last hope.

Knowing herself unwatched, Cassandra stepped over the flowers and quickly entered the cabin, softly shutting the door behind her. She swallowed painfully and sent a prayer to Andraste asking for pardon for disturbing this place – she should be crying for the Maker’s mercy for not saving his Herald, but some failings were too vast to be forgiven.

She had come this far before, entered the cabin and stood, frozen.

As she moved forward her shadow darkened what had previously been illuminated by the light at the entrance.

Everything was as Verna had left it. Pieces of armor by the door, her old staff in a corner. Slippers discarded by the bed, a nightshirt on the pillow. On the nightstand a candle three-quarters burned, a sewing kit, a chipped mug, a thick tome on Ferelden’s fauna, _The Legend of Calenhad_ and a signed copy of _Hard in Hightown_. Standing here, Verna seemed so close again – maybe this was the nightmare?

At the foot of the nightstand was a leather bag Verna had often carried on their ventures into the Hinterlands. A tattered old thing, it had been with her even as she had been pulled from the smoldering ruins of Haven’s old temple. Verna must have left it behind when they went to Redcliffe in their best armor on a mission that could have been diplomatic.

Without thinking, Cassandra knelt down and reached for the bag. It was heavy, soft leather, cool to the touch. Inside it was a collection of smooth stones – and Verna’s green notebook. She ran her hands over it, a sudden tenderness softening her grief. She opened it.

> … _challenge you to this fight!” the knight roared, her obsidian-dark eyes flashing menacingly._
> 
> “ _You will regret coming here.” The bandit leader’s red beard was streaked with angry spittle._
> 
> _Cyra readied her shield and pointed her sword at the bandit. “You will no longer cause chaos in these woods!”_
> 
> _The knight’s movements were_ ~~ _beautiful_~~ ~~_s_ _trong_ ~~_decisive and swift._ ~~_Any onlooker would have known that the foolish bandit would be no match for her._~~ _Only a few steps and her shield connected with the ax of the bandit, driving back his attack and stunning him. He was a large man, but no match for a knight of Cyra’s mettle._
> 
> “ _Maker take you!” she screamed as her sword plunged into the bloody bandit’s heart._

What was this? Fiction? Had Verna been a writer and she had not known it? No wonder she had befriended Varric so swiftly. They had an interest uniting them.

Cassandra opened the book to another page.

> “ _I will not let you go, my love” the bard whispered, wiping tears from her eyes. “I will go back to the Winding Wilds and bring back the antidote!”_
> 
> _Cyra was weakened by the poison, but her love for Marielle_ _~~bid~~ _ _gave her the strength to hold on. “Hurry, Marielle. I promise I will wait for you.”_
> 
> _Marielle’s lips were butterfly wings on her forehead and the scar on her brow – then hot tears dropped on her lips as they said goodbye._

Cassandra closed the book quickly, feeling the scalding shame of intruding where she should not have.

**Redcliffe 3** **rd** **day of Harvestmere 9:42 Dragon**

It was impossible. A year! A whole year had passed? Fiona was only the second prisoner Verna and Dorian had found alive in these crumbling dungeons, but where the young mage they recognized from Redcliffe had seemed only badly addled by the exposure to the red lyrium, seeing Fiona showed them that the material could do much worse than deteriorate the mind.

Verna swallowed back bile as she looked more closely at the former First Enchanter’s body – it was a living nightmare now: cracked open and sprouting veins of red lyrium that cast an eerie glow on her broken and bleeding skin. She turned away as Dorian whispered to Fiona. She knew what had to happen next, knew they could not leave the woman to a drawn-out, agonizing death. A surge of magic told her that Dorian had done what he could. As Dorian walked past her and down the corridor, she hurried to fall in step behind him, tears stinging in her eyes.

The stale, musty air of the cells made Verna feel more and more nauseous, but they had to search the place just in case there were any more living prisoners to be found. Maybe there was yet someone to be saved. Or someone that could help.

“...shall lead her safely out of this world and into the next.”

When she heard the voice Verna thought she was dreaming. Cassandra’s voice – something about it seemed distorted, unreal. Then they turned the corner into the corridor of cells and Verna knew she had been right. Cassandra’s voice. Cassandra behind bars, on the ground – in a haze of red lyrium – praying for forgiveness and staring ahead with unseeing eyes.

Verna moved closer and Cassandra looked up at her.

“You’ve returned to us.” Cassandra’s eyes seemed to stare through the angry red fog surrounding her. “Has Andraste given us another chance?”

Verna felt rent asunder by Cassandra’s anguished apologies that followed. What could there be to forgive?

“We’re here Cassandra. We are trying to put things right.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Nothing you can do will help me now. I’ll be with the Maker soon.”

As Dorian explained their plan to Cassandra, Verna blinked through tears. She wanted to shut her eyes and will Cassandra to be hale again – but could they really do nothing to help her?

“Go back? Then can you make this so none of this will ever come to pass?” Cassandra’s voice was louder now, and she stood and walked towards them as Dorian opened the cell door.

Verna immediately felt a weight lift from her chest. Cassandra, even though affected by the red lyrium, was nowhere near the state Fiona had been in. “If Dorian’s theory is right.”

“After you died …” Cassandra faltered as she finally seemed to see Verna clearly, her eyes more alive than they had seemed moments ago. “We could not stop the Elder One from rising.”

There had been a demon army. Unspeakable horrors. Defeat after defeat for the Inquisition, for Orlais, for Thedas.

“I should have been there to help you.” Verna instinctively reached out to take Cassandra’s hand.

Cassandra returned the pressure of her grasp. “You’re here now.”

**Haven 27** **th** **day of Harvestmere 9:41 Dragon**

Cassandra stood in the falling snow, looking out over Haven. I was a calm night, windless, and she allowed herself to feel a moment of peace.

Snow crunched behind her as slow steps approached. “Cassandra?”

“Herald. Did you need me?” It was good to see Verna come look for her. In the weeks after they had returned from Redcliffe the Herald seemed to avoid her – more wary of her than ever before. “I apologize again for reacting harshly to your suggestion to ally with the mages – after what I thought Alexius had done to you …”

Verna shook her head. “You’ve supported my decisions since then. I trust your word, Cassandra. That is not why I came – we need to talk.”

Cassandra frowned. “But we are talking.”

“Not here, I …” Verna sighed deeply and then spoke more confidently. “I wanted to ask you to come to my cabin – I have tea or … well, we found some wine.”

“Tea,” Cassandra said quickly, “will be fine.”

Verna led the way, and then ushered Cassandra into her cabin, where two chairs already waited by the fire and a makeshift table had been set on a box.

“You prepared this?”

“I have wanted to speak to you privately for a while – ah, more so since we returned from Redcliffe – since I returned from the future where–”

“– you saw me die.” Cassandra began to wonder if she understood what this talk would be about.

“I saw you there,” Verna said. “I did not see you die.” She shivered. “You … that Cassandra – she held back the demons so we could escape. She sacrificed herself for us. For a different future.”

Cassandra was about to protest that she would do the same, but as she looked at Verna the words stuck in her throat.

Verna poured their tea and Cassandra was glad to warm her hands on the mug as they stared into the fire.

After a moment, Verna got up. “Let me show you something.” From a worn leather bag she wore around her hip she produced a notebook – her notebook.

“I have often wanted to ask you what you write in it.” Cassandra admitted.

Verna smiled, her eyes still sad. “Wait, I will show you,” she said, then pulled another notebook from the bag and laid them side by side on the box in front of Cassandra.

They were both green and of the same make, but one was clearly older, worn and torn – badly damaged. As Cassandra inspected them Verna opened both on the first page, revealing an identical script, date and drawing of flowers. Verna turned page after page, until Cassandra could no longer read words, only notice that the text on the pages was identical.

“My notebook,” Verna pointed – “and its twin from another future.”

“How?” Cassandra asked, a little lost.

“You gave it to me there.” Verna’s voice was a whisper now. She closed the notebooks and her hand lingered on the ruined one. “What I have written in them is identical, Cassandra, but –” she swallowed, “you, the other you, found this one – and read it, wrote in it – and finally gave it back to me. I am your Verna – and I was her Verna, but I am not sure if I should have it.”

Cassandra picked up the damaged notebook carefully. True enough, on its final pages she recognized her own hand.

“Read it,” Verna said. “Take it with you and take your time – and then please talk to me again.”

Cassandra still felt strange, but the importance of Verna’s request was clear. “I will,” she promised.

**Haven 1** **st** **day of Firstfall**

Verna walked her third round of Haven. There were entirely too many distracted people in Haven, and she was one of them. Verna sent a rare prayer to the Maker to keep them safe. Satinalia was not a popular holiday in Ferelden, but there were some Antivans here who had organized some merry-making and masks for those who wished a rare happy diversion.

It was not Satinalia that occupied her thoughts, rather the vain hope that any moment now Cassandra would come to speak to her. Come to her and say: “I feel like this Cassandra did. I care for you – more than I ever thought I could.”

Was it morbid to wish to hear the words a woman had written in another time – a woman who died for her – a time that would never come to pass?

She was just wondering if she should have accepted Varric’s invitation to the tavern, to give in to distraction and chase these thoughts from her mind, when a snowball hit the side of her face. Verna turned, spitting snow, only to see two masked figures run away, giggling, squealing apologies.

She sat down heavily in the snow, her knees weak, her heart beating fast.

“Cassandra has been looking for you.” Leliana, her spymaster, stepped noiselessly from the shadows of her tent.

Had her heart been beating fast? Verna knew it must surely stop now.

“I believe she is with Josephine now.” Leliana looked down at her shaking her head, then smiled. “You should go inside. Sitting in the snow will do nothing for our Herald’s health, you know.”

Verna scrambled to her feet and dusted off her coat, trembling slightly. Leliana at least knew she was a fool - did she know she was a fool in love? She was not sure if that was more reassuring or disconcerting. She nodded at Leliana in a gesture of thanks and walked towards the Chantry.

There were groups of people gathered inside. Verna sped up her pace, willing them to leave her alone. Laughter came from Josephine’s door and Verna knocked before she could lose her nerve.

“Come in.” Josephine welcomed her in, beaming with delight behind a half-mask of a golden bird.

Their Antivan spymaster’s office was full of candles and decorations. Josephine’s table had become a buffet of cakes and dried fruits and the scent of spiced wine permeated the air. Besides Josephine and Cassandra, Minaeve, who shared Josephine’s space, and Krem, one of the Iron Bull’s Chargers were in attendance.

“Will you have a drink with us, Herald?”

Josephine’s welcome was disarming. Verna was helped out of her snowy coat, accepted a glass of mulled wine and was ushered to a seat by the fire – next to Cassandra.

“Thank you,” Verna said into her wine, her face on fire both with the sudden heat of the room and the scalding proximity to Cassandra.

“Now, I might be Antivan, but consider this a space safe from misrule,” Josephine said conspiratorially. “We will, however, continue the tradition of gifts.”

“I did not bring –” Verna began.

“Ah!” Josephine interjected with a sidelong glance at Cassandra before telling Verna. “Satinalia can last up to a week in Antiva. If you wish to give a gift, you can do so after tonight.”

It was nice, Verna decided, to watch the exchange of gifts. Krem, it appeared, was very good with needle and thread and had handmade gifts for everyone. Minaeve gave pouches of tea, made from wildflowers she had collected. Cassandra gave beautiful clasps, made to fasten cloaks – Verna remembered seeing them sold in Orlais. Josephine gave away a wealth of dried fruit and nuts that would make for many a treat beyond this night. Verna herself received an impromptu offering of dried fruit and a promise of tea and anything at all that Krem could make and felt immeasurably grateful to be surrounded by people as kind as these.

“Do you know,” Josephine said after they had admired all the gifts and Verna had had a few sips of wine and a very large piece of cake, “I think I heard the scouts say that it was a particularly clear night tonight. Who wants to come see Satina – the Celebrant?”

Verna was about to think of an excuse so she could stay by the fire, but was preempted by Cassandra saying: “The Herald has only just come in from the cold. I will keep her company.”

Suddenly she was alone with Cassandra.

“I do have a gift for you. I tried to find you earlier.”

Verna nodded and was about to explain that Leliana had told her, when Cassandra reached into her pocket and produced a cloth-wrapped parcel which she held out to her. “Thank you.” Verna’s voice cracked.

Unwrapping it she realized it was a book – a notebook. She opened it. It was empty but for a dedication on the first page.

> _I cannot say that I fully understand what my other self felt, but I would like to be your friend, and to know you better - and I would like to read more of Cyra and Marielle. ~ C._

Verna’s eyes filled with tears. She laughed. “Of course.” There was hope.

Cassandra took her hand.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to sweettasteofbitter and amarmeme. You gave me such wonderful cheers and commas - and only you stand between me and my steadfast love of dashes. <3
> 
> This fic includes some lines of dialogue from the game as it follows the events in Redcliffe.


End file.
